With every mile Buffy traveled he felt her grow closer. 

Angel knew Angelus could feel her, too. The demon was having a fine time of it; there was torture, conquest, allies that were finally worth his time and energy. And now Buffy. She had done something to herself – or had something done to her – both soul and demon could sense it. But Angel had no idea what it had been, what she had done. Something designed to help her in her fight with Angelus? 

Probably. A part of Angel cringed at that thought, at the thought that she had to fight his demon again. Something he had never wanted her to do; something he had tried to shield her from in the first place. Another part was angry – in a slightly detached way – that she was coming to LA to fight Angelus when she had stayed away when Angel was in control of his body. 

No, that small bit of logic made no sense but who ever said he was logical? 

Angelus, for his part however, didn’t seem too concerned with her impending arrival, was, in fact, looking forward to it. Even more so now that he had seduced her in their dreams. Oh, yeah, Angel knew all about that. Even if he hadn’t found the strength to assert himself Angelus taunted the deeply buried soul every chance the demon got. 

Frankly Angel hadn’t been willing or able to assert himself enough to see what was going on until recently. Angelus’ invasion of Buffy’s dream had allowed Angel that assertiveness, though, even if it was for a small amount of time. 

He knew why he hadn’t cared enough about the outside world to gather the strength needed to push back at the demon; he was an emotional mess. He preferred the term ‘brooding’ to that, but whatever the words it all amounted to the same thing: Angel had made a mess of his life the last year. 

He had excuses, he had reasons, and they were all good. But he could have done something about it, he had simply chosen not to. 

He chose not to because it was easier to not feel anything than it was to acknowledge the pain that Buffy’s death had brought. Easier to pretend that he was okay than it was to face the fact that he had effectively died inside and there was no coming back from that. He was the world’s greatest actor that was for sure. 

Angel spent three months away from everyone and everything in a vain attempt to heal from her death.

It hadn’t worked. 

But he hadn’t expected it to, either. He would have stayed in that monastery indefinitely if those stupid demon monks hadn’t pissed him off. He hadn’t noticed they were even evil demons until that day he fought them, too caught up in his own heartache to see anything else around him. 

He had come back to LA, then, and tried to find his life again but found he couldn’t. Nothing had changed while he was away; his friends were still there, fighting demons and whatnot. They were still the same people whom he had left. The world still revolved even though one of her best and most treasured warriors had fallen; even though he had died with his love yet still walked the earth when she did not. 

Angel hadn’t been so lucky as to continue on as if nothing had happened. His life had stopped the moment he walked through the doors and saw Willow there. Everything he was, had been, wanted to be, narrowed into nothing, a gapping maw of blackness that consumed him; Willow’s words, her description of what happened to his love hadn’t meant anything to Angel. 

All he knew was that she was dead. Buffy Summers, the light of his life, the love of his life, was dead. She was dead, the words kept repeating themselves. Dead, they mocked, she was dead. She had sacrificed herself to save her sister and the Powers hadn’t seen fit to reject her sacrifice. They had allowed her to die despite his own sacrifice for her; they had allowed her to die. THEY HAD ALLOWED THIS! 

They both screamed then, the soul and the demon, the entire man screamed then, a howl of anguish that echoed throughout the hotel that shattered windows and frightened everyone within hearing distance. They had howled and cursed and wailed at the loss of their love, of their life. 

But even that rage was pale, was nothing, in light of his overwhelming anguish. 

From that moment on Angel had walked around in a kind of daze. The world he was now forced to live in, the world without Buffy in it, was far, far away. It wasn’t real, it wasn’t his, and it barely existed for him. 

He was aware of pain. PAIN in all capitals as if the regular meaning of the word was inadequate to describe what he felt, for he felt so much and yet nothing at all. He felt it all, felt the pain of going on without the other half of himself, felt the pain of knowing what he had always known: that he was now forced to live without her. 

Buffy was his reason and even if she had claimed to move on with Finn it meant nothing. For in the end they always belonged together, always had, always would. No matter what happened between the time he had left her – he had left her, why? Those reasons seemed stupid and long ago now – and the time he would return to her.  So much time wasted, so much they could have done. 

It was hard, true, but maybe…. Maybe if he had stayed then…but that wasn’t going to help anymore, was it? Maybes didn’t help and then it was too late for maybes and too late for his love and too late for them in this life. 

From the time he had left her to the time they met again even if it was in whatever final resting place they were destined to end up in, that time in-between didn’t matter. All that would matter, Angel knew, was that they were together again. That was what had kept him going; knowing that, ultimately, they were going to be together. 

THEY WERE GOING TO BE TOGETHER. 

But she had died and they had never had the chance for anything but that one final short visit at her mother’s funeral. 

Buffy had died and left him. Left him when he needed her so desperately, needed her smile, her warmth, hell, the knowledge that she was there, alive, ALIVE someplace. And even if they weren’t together, she was alive. 

Buffy had left him. 

Angel had found her last letter to him the night before he left America. He was sitting in her room the grief and pain and anger, yes anger; anger at her for dieing and leaving him alone, anger at The Powers for allowing her to die, anger at Dawn for being the one Buffy sacrificed herself for. 

And anger at himself for not being there for her. For allowing her to die in the first place and if he couldn’t have saved her, she shouldn’t have died alone.

With all this anger weighing down on him, suffocating him, he had found the letter she had written. It was then the tears started. Then he consciously realized what he had known all along; that he could never again be whole without her someplace in his life. 

My dearest Angel,
                  I can’t let Dawn die. Probably not the words you want to hear, but I can’t go through that again. When I had to fight you, when Angelus was awakening Acathla and trying to destroy the world, I almost didn’t survive it. It was hard enough fighting him, knowing that there was at least some of you in him.
                But when you came back to me…but it was too late then. Too late and I had to do it. If there was another way, if I could have sacrificed myself in your place, I would have gladly done so. But there wasn’t. I’m so sorry about that, did I ever tell you? 
                I’m so sorry that there wasn’t another way and that I had to kill you. What you never knew was that effectively killed me as well.
                I can’t do that to Dawn.
                I’m so tired, my Angel, tired of fighting and making the hard decisions that everyone seems to think I can make without any effort at all. I’m tired of being the strong one, of being the one everyone looks up to. I’m tired of living when all I really want to do is die, rest from the fight that is never winnable, never finished. 
                I’m tired of living without you in my life.
                This fight with Glory is to the death, I know that. And I’ll beat her, I’m sure of that, too; but I won’t allow Dawn to die. I won’t.
                I just wanted you to know that. I wanted you to know the reason for my decision. It wasn’t an arbitrary one, wasn’t made without thinking it all through. I know what I’m doing and I know I have to do it.
                I love you, Angel. I always have and I always will. You’re the only one I’ve ever truly loved and the only one I ever will. Nothing can change that, not time or distance or replacements in my life or yours.  
                We fought, true, but wasn’t that half of it, what all relationships go through? Knowing that we’d always make up, knowing that there was nothing bad enough out there that could tear us apart. Not really, not where it really mattered. 
                But I don’t want you to give up, I don’t want you to quit. I know it’s a hard, painful thing for me to ask of you, but I don’t want you to lose your redemption because of me. Thought I didn’t know about that, did you? I know more about you than you think, love.
                I want Dawn to stay with everyone here. You probably want her to move to LA with you. I want that, too, that knowledge that she’d be safe with you and that you’d watch over her for me. But I’m afraid that if that happened then the gang would fall apart, do something stupid. 
                They need to stay together to stay together. Does that make any sense? I just have this sinking feeling that if they didn’t have Dawn to take care of that that something stupid would be catastrophic. I’d say keep an eye on them for me, but I know that you have your own team to look after and the guys here never appreciated you the way I did…do. 
                Take care of yourself, my darling, and know that in the end, I’ll be waiting for you, my sweet Angel; I’ll always wait for you. 

Always yours,

Buffy

Then she came back. Willow, damn her soul a thousand times over, had pulled his love from heaven and forced her back into this life. Angel wasn’t sure what made him angrier, knowing that she was dead or knowing that she was forced back into a life she didn’t want. 

But either way she was there, there and alive and she was given back to him. He should have been the happiest creature on the face of the planet. Should have lost his soul then and there, the moment Cordelia told him that she was back, the moment he heard her voice, the moment he saw her. 

Those walls that surrounded his heart couldn’t be broken by one meeting, however. They were too high, too well constructed, meticulously maintained over a period of long empty months, to crumble when the both of them were so emotionally unstable. 

He should have been able to see what a mess Buffy was. 

He didn’t; he was too busy trying to comprehend the fact that she was alive for anything else to sink in. He was too much of an emotional mess himself. 

He knew she had been in heaven, how could she not be? And she had told him so, and what moronic thing had come out of his mouth? I know, and I’m sorry. He apologized to her for her idiotic friend’s brainless stunt in pulling her out of heaven.

Way to go there, slick, two hundred years of smooth talking the ladies and that’s what comes out of your mouth? 

He had held her then as they both cried, sitting on their bed in their cabin in the woods twenty miles or so outside of Sunnydale. She told him everything, then, Glory, Dawn, the First Slayer’s words, why she did it, where she was, how happy and at peace she was and that she was waiting for him with the knowledge that he would, someday, be there with her. And how miserable she was here. 

Buffy had held him as he confessed that he had broken down when he learned of her death, that he lost everything, even the will to live. They sat in silence for most of the remaining night, just breathing in each other’s presence. 

‘Do you want me to stay?’ He had asked as they lay on the bed, fully clothed but entwined nonetheless. 

‘No, you have responsibilities in Los Angeles, Angel,’ she had answered and kissed him then long and deep and full of passion and love. 

‘Are you sure, Buffy?’ He had asked, brushing a lock of golden hair off her face, a part of him knowing she was just saying that because it seemed the right thing to say. And he, fool that he was, believed her, took her offering and ran. But he couldn’t help himself, much less her, no matter how much he longed to do so. ‘If you need me I’ll be there for you, you know that.’ 

‘I do know that, Angel, and I love you for it. But we both know what happens when we’re together for too long and I don’t think I’ll be able to let you go this time.’ 

‘I know the feeling, beloved, I know exactly the feeling.’ He had whispered to her, kissing her again softly, sweetly. 

‘I’ll be okay. Really.’ She smiled then as if to reaffirm her words when they both knew they were lying. 

Lies poured out of both their mouths; he knew she wasn’t going to be okay and she knew that he had yet to fully accept anything in his limited world let alone her surprise rebirth. They had both closed themselves off neither allowing the other in when that was all they desperately wanted to do. 

The sun was threatening to rise again, as was its wont, and they both knew it was time to leave. One more minute, just one more, that last minute they had been denied too many times in their lives. But it was over all too soon and they were leaving. Going back to their separate lives and duties and trying not to think on those maybes. 

Angel had thought, as they shared that dream in which she learned of Connor, that Buffy knowing of his son would cause her to go to LA and visit. Obviously he had been wrong. It wasn’t entirely her fault, though; he could have picked up the damn phone, done some follow-up. Had he? No. 

Oh, he could list his reasons until his final death. Connor was in danger, everyone and everything was after him. Holtz was back and looking for some serious revenge. Wolfram and Hart were more than their usual pesky threat because they were now after his son. His son whom he had vowed to protect at all costs. 

But the end result was the same. When Buffy hadn’t showed Angel took that to mean that she didn’t want to; one more layer to the wall surrounding his heart was added upon that realization. It was a damn shame that his precious son, despite the plethora of emotions his birth caused, hadn’t been able to break down the barriers surrounding his, Angel’s, heart. 

And then Wesley had taken Connor. Just when the barrier surrounding his heart, his life had threatened to fall, just a little, his son had been kidnapped by one of his closest friends, causing those walls to jack up that much higher. 

Who was he kidding? Angel wondered now as he beat helplessly against the invisible barricade imprisoning him inside his own body and roared out to a mate that no longer chose to hear his voice. Or perhaps she couldn’t? Had they let their bond weaken to the point that neither could hear the other? Angel could still feel her, sense the changes within her, so maybe it was all on her end? 

Or maybe she felt him, but couldn’t concentrate on anything but the dominant force in the body, Angel’s demon. Had to concentrate on the fact that once again she had to fight Angelus because Angel was too weak to stop his alter ego. 

Angel didn’t know the reasons, but wanted, desperately, to have that bond back. 

Was this how Angelus felt for a hundred years? Trapped, surrounded, locked away to slowly go insane. He could hear his demon’s laugh, a low honeyed sound that flowed over a person like the finest silk, weaving an unbreakable web around all but the most tenacious of beings. 

That’s why Buffy hadn’t become ensnared in Angelus’ web before; she was stronger than that. But she was tempted and they all – Buffy, Angel, Angelus – knew that. And that’s why Angel had hoped that she would again win this battle; she was strong, strong in ways she sometimes didn’t want to be. Angel had hoped that his love needn’t come anywhere near LA but that looked to be a futile hope. 

Was it fair to her, was any of this fair? She needed to – or was going to – in effect, clean up his mess. She needed to save his friends, ones who cared nothing for her, kill him and his demon – again – when Angel had sworn to never allow Angelus out ever again. 

Failure coated the soul like a bog and Angel was sinking fast in the murky depths. 

He was a failure, there was no denying that. For over a year he had denied who and what he really was, changing for his friends because it was easier to hide than it was to show them what he truly was, what he truly felt and for whom he truly felt it. It was easier to go with the flow, to pretend to be involved and pretend to care about what went on around him when all he really wanted to do was bury himself inside a beautiful golden slayer and forget the world outside the two of them even existed. 

But he couldn’t do that, could he? He wasn’t ‘allowed’ that comfort, he wasn’t ‘allowed’ to be happy, he wasn’t ‘allowed’ to have desires and passions for that could lead nowhere good and who did he think he was, anyway, to endanger the world like that all for the sake of a little sex? 

‘Allowed my ass.’ 

He wasn’t ‘allowed’ to love the only woman he truly ever could or would love, soul or demon, because everyone said it was ‘wrong’ that it was ‘dangerous’ and that they weren’t really ‘meant to be’.

They knew nothing. It wasn’t about sex; it was about completing each other, about joining with the only person in the universe who engendered such a feeling of wholeness that it was heaven each and every time. 

Fuck them. 

FUCK. THEM.

Who did they think they were? 

It wasn’t okay to love Buffy, but it was okay for him to love Cordelia? 

Fuck that. 

The same reasons, in a very broad theory at least, applied to her. IF he loved Cordelia, truly loved her as he let everyone convince him that he did though he really did know better, deep down. Hell, not all that deep, really, just beneath the surface where his true feelings were secured he knew that what he was doing was wrong, not him, not what he wanted, not what he felt. 

A lie, it was all a lie that he had been too weak, too complacent to disabuse. 

In any case the same dangers applied – should he have truly loved Cordelia the way he did Buffy which was the most ridiculous thing he had heard in a good long while. No, not everyone harped on him for his supposed feelings for the seer. Was loneliness a reason he had let himself be persuaded he loved Cordelia? 

Hmm, possibly, loneliness was the most crushing, the most debilitating emotion known to man or demon. But how could one feel loneliness when it, but its very nature, was an emotion? And Angel was no longer capable of feeling emotions. 

Lorne, the rat bastard; and if he could in fact read his soul, knew what Angel’s future was or whatever he was supposed to read in people, then the green skinned demon knew, HE KNEW that Buffy was it for the ensouled vampire. No one came close, no one ever could, and no one ever would. 

Smirking imaginary lips in an imaginary face within his imperceptible but very real prison Angel thought that he really was a one slayer demon. 

He and Lorne were going to have a nice long talk once Angel regained control of his body. 

So why the push towards Angel’s dearest friend? And why the hell had she reciprocated? 

Did she really love him? Angel had no idea, Cordelia had claimed to but really, how much love could you have for a person if you turned around and within hours of such a declaration sleep with this person’s son? Or had Cordelia listened to Fred’s babble one too many times and believed it, too? 

That made about as much sense as Angel thinking that he could love Cordelia as anything other than a very dear friend. 

Fred, the bitch, what the hell did she know? 

Nothing, not a damn thing. 

Another little talk they were going to have once Angel was fully in charge of his own body. 

She saw them together, saw their friendship and respect, and trust – as they were before at least – and assumed that it was more. Even if she hadn’t ever met Buffy what business, what right, did she have in pushing them together? And thinking that Angel ‘too happy’ was something that could A) happen with anyone other than Buffy and B) that simply finding out Cordelia’s feelings for him would release Angelus? 

Though there was something he was missing in his self imposed isolation, something about all his friends…or at least about the people who called themselves his friends. Angel just wasn’t strong enough yet to see everything through Angelus’ eyes. It was the same for the demon when the gypsies first cursed them, the demon was the weak one, it had taken years for Angelus to gain enough strength to life through Angel. 

Which all brought him back to the point that now the walls were down. Oh, yes, they were down and ashes in the proverbial wind. Now Angel felt and he felt it all. 

All the rage at Buffy for dieing and leaving him, for coming back just when he knew he was starting, in some small way, to accept her death and that she was at the peace she so richly deserved and wanted and she was waiting for him. How she had brought home the fact that he was never going to die and his nightmare that he’d outlive her, have to live without her. 

He felt the love he always had for Buffy and always would, no matter the obstacles placed in their path by vengeful gypsies and their descendants or her friends or his friends or The Powers or anyone. The fury that consumed him, still, for allowing Buffy’s bitch of a mother to drive home all his insecurities about their life together and give him one more reason to leave just when they were getting strong enough to deal with their problems both past and future. 

He loved Buffy and that was it.

There was a fine sense of stupidity mixed in there, for listening to others when he should have known better, for allowing himself to be swept away in the current because hey, you need to move on, Angel don’t you?

Jackass – and that was directed at himself as much as anyone else. Right. They knew nothing. They understood nothing. 

And it all, everything, all the emotions, all the rage and love he felt for Buffy, and hate and contempt he felt for his friends and their lack of understanding, and the scorn he felt for himself at not being stronger for Buffy, for their love, against his well-meaning but blind friends, and everything he had been hiding behind that indomitable wall came crashing through. 

Souls were tricky things, having one was not an automatic ticket to goodness. Free will existed even if Angel didn’t believe in a God that had abandoned him so long ago. Having a soul didn’t make Angel good, Angel did that. 

But now he didn’t care. Now he had a new mission, a new purpose. 

And her name was Buffy.

She might not be so willing to forgive him just yet and he knew that he had a lot to atone for, a lot to explain, but he was going to make sure he had a chance to do so.
~~~~~~~~~~
Angelus laughed again, feeling some, it not all, of Angel’s feelings. Well. He certainly wasn’t expecting this. Angel’s feelings of self-hatred were clear enough but there were those delicious feelings of revenge towards his ‘friends’ as well. 

Never let it be said that Angelus wasn’t willing to indulge in his soul’s more base desires. 

But what was with this sudden change of heart? Was it because he now had all the time in the universe to contemplate his stupidity? Because he now realized that Angelus was going to have Buffy and Angel, who was just as possessive over her as he, Angelus, was, was seething with jealously? Or was it because he felt more fully what the demon did?

Angelus hadn’t the answers to these questions and he doubted Angel did, either. Maybe it was a culmination of all three and the sure knowledge that Buffy held so much anger towards the soul and wanted the demon more. Not that she hadn’t always wanted the demon as much as the soul; both soul and demon knew that, but now she had effectively dismissed the soul in favor of the demon. 

Hmm, wait, what was this feeling? He wanted Buffy back? Well, naturally, who wouldn’t? 

“Sorry, soul boy,” Angelus said aloud, knowing Angel could hear him. “Buffy’s mine. You are not allowed to have her.”

Speaking of, she’d be here soon. And there were still preparations to be made.

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